


California Dreamin'

by mimarie



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who, crossover - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-01
Updated: 2006-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimarie/pseuds/mimarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It was as good a time and place to wash up as any - maybe better than most, considering the current restrictions of his wardrobe. So long as it was brief, tight or garish whatever he wore he'd fit right in.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Torchwood aired. Set sometime after DW S1/13 Parting of the Ways / BtVS S2/10 What's My Line pt 2  
> (Call it an AU and try not to join the 'oh, but...' dots).  
> Contains: sex, death (some permanent, some not so), vampirism and swearing.  
> beta: [](http://aeshna-uk.livejournal.com/profile)[**aeshna_uk**](http://aeshna-uk.livejournal.com/).   
> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the happy space between my ears.

  
"And if it's not _you_ then...."  
Flapping his wristcom shut as he twisted the last crystal relay back into its housing, Jack Harkness ducked though the hazy blur of the hatch. After the dim cabin the late afternoon was dazzling, and he squinted at the lowering sun on the horizon, heaving a deep sigh before slumping down on the breezing grass at the cliff edge.  
It had to be the GPS hybrid he'd rigged into the temporal matrix - the 3200 series never did have the staying power of the old 3158. Of course he _could_ take a chance and go now, but if the navcom-link caught the slightest discrepancy, the temporal inhibitor would kick him out of the vortex - anywhere and anywhen - unless it decided there was a less than three-in-one chance of rematerialising in at least five of the available eight dimensions, in which case …  
No, whatever the flickering display said, there was no way that capacitor was shot beyond repair. He hadn't spent six hours coaxing the field generators into a surge large enough to escape the not-quite-as-abandoned-as-he'd-thought military spaceport on Nuevo Terranea in 200,103 merely in order to get stuck somewhere else he didn't want to be. Although, he did at least know where he was - sort of. For some reason the ship's temporal static was blocking local satellite feed, and all his wristcom had been able to decipher from the faint, intermittent signal was that the frequency was almost definitely of Earth-origin, possibly late twentieth century, and _probably_ the United States. Thankfully he hadn't had to rely on any translator circuit to decipher the more primitive forms of information …  
Jack reached under the ship for the bundle of printed white sheets he'd found flapping against the rails of the narrow beach steps, archaic newsprint proudly declaring itself 'The Sunnydale Enquirer' for Wednesday October 8, 1997. If he'd had anyone to bet him technology over humanity, he'd stake a few - dollars? - on where and when he'd be spending however long it took the navcom-link's subsidiary systems to reboot and recharge. And then… Hell, compared to travelling over one hundred ninety-eight thousand years on navigation circuits he'd soldered with a sonic blaster and the last of his restraint-tech, the easy hop to Wales in September 2006 wasn't so much as a faint zephyr on a Southern Californian late afternoon.  
And speaking of which...  
Even with the fall mists pulling in low over the bay, the blue of the ocean was glorious. Flurries of golden skinned sun-worshippers drifted like aimless leaves, some of the hardier natives wearing no more than the designer swimwear they'd spent the day in. Glancing down at the smoke-stained coverall he'd stolen in order to secure the larger prize of the time ship - also successfully appropriated, if somewhat temperamental when it came to the finer points of temporal, and spatial, navigation; if he'd paid for it he'd be sending a memo to the legal department about now - Jack ruefully decided he'd need more than a quick wash and brush-up if he wasn't going to be laughed out of the nearest bar.  
Time was he would've trusted his smile to get by, but three years spent on the murky fringes of a society already well past its atomise-by date had scraped away any lingering complacency - not that his life to that point had been a lesson in easy rides, of that sort, anyway. Time Agency training, special assignments - whatever it was he'd survived that his memories hadn't - the solitary scratch of dig in and run that had filled a year's petty theft and pathetic vengeance, and then, on the TARDIS...  
There was no point in thinking about it. Even if he made the leap and didn't have to wait around for nine years until they arrived, he still wouldn't be home and dry. There was no way of knowing if he'd be able to catch them in Cardiff, catch them without catching himself - or at least get a chance to speak to the Doctor without throwing out everything about that night with Blon Fel Fotch - just to leave a marker, somewhere he could finally get some answers: they owed him that at least. And maybe if he, or they, were lucky - he'd decide which when he'd found out what the hell happened back on the Game Station - they'd even know where to find him again.  
But for all the potential problems, just being this close after so long was beginning to give him a warm glow. Although, he mused, still squinting over the bluff at the disorderly collection of tables, umbrellas, the bright clash of furled and flapped towels - and the skin, all that skin - there were other reasons for feeling a little... warm, right? Besides, he'd been busy; he deserved a break - a little R and R, some fun…  
Grinning as he patted the faint shimmer of his ship's cloaked hull, Jack felt along the hiss of static for the hatch, taking a final glance around before clambering back inside. It was as good a time and place to wash up as any - maybe better than most, considering the current restrictions of his wardrobe. So long as it was brief, tight or garish whatever he wore he'd fit right in.

*

It didn't look too bad from the cliffs above the beach, but considering how busy the town was under the late sun, by the time he'd bashed the sonic shower into shape and found something to wear that wouldn't get him barred or baited, turning frustratedly in the claustrophobic cabin to get a half-decent view of the slim slacks and tight-fitting white t-shirt in the tiny mirror, Jack was surprised by the quiet. The last red tendrils of early evening caught descending shutters and scraping street furniture, bus queues populated by small huddles of youths, all branded with the scent of cooking fat and burnt sugar and oversized cartoonish logos on bright sweaty nylon, throwing him suspicious stares as he sauntered past.  
Okay, he was walking, not something he'd seen many others doing unless they were dragging a tiny canine - or being dragged by a huge one. And he wasn't what you'd call tanned; sunbathing being an even less sensible occupation in the smog-storm fractured perpetual Nuevo Terranean-twilight than it was under an already splintering twenty-first century ionosphere. Not jogging, not wearing blades, not even mumbling incoherently to himself, but the world, or at least one small corner of twentieth century California, could deal with him as he was for now; with any luck he'd be gone by the time the sun rose. Although, Jack smiled to himself as a wolf-whistle followed him along the broad sidewalk, he might possibly be persuaded to stay after the ship signalled - maybe even until mid-morning, but only if whoever shared their bed with him tonight could stretch to bacon and eggs and a pot of real coffee.

*

The pretty red-head, whose books he retrieved from the gutter as the horde of over-groomed airheads sniggered admiringly past - not that he'd usually say no, but their humour smelled a little too juvenile for his palate tonight - had blushed when he'd asked her name. Although how much of that was due to him and how much to the glower he got from the tall, dark boy he'd found suddenly helping - Will, did he say? Wilma? - stuff the rest of her textbooks in the oversized bag, Jack wasn't sure.  
She was grateful, though; grateful enough to answer his question, at least. Flashing her sour-but-cute-looking 'oh-no-not-my-boyfriend' a sideways look - and why was the kid checking the skyline again? Had he never seen a sunset? - before telling him very firmly-but-tentatively that if he _was_ going out - because he said he was, and he looked like he was, but she didn't mean to insinuate he was dressed up or anything because she was just saying, but if he was, and she was just saying, because he'd been nice, really kind and - well, there were plenty of places to go, although there was one place, and she probably wouldn't be there later, and he probably wouldn't enjoy it anyway -  
Pretty, cute, nervous - okay, more like petrified, but, hey - invitation duly received. Defrosting that one could make for a fun night... maybe, if nothing more interesting came along, anyway - and okay, so she was right, the Bronze was a bit of a dive, but he'd seen worse. Much, _much_ worse.  
There was no sign of the red-head as he surveyed the room, but at least half a dozen of the giggling bitches from earlier were hovering around him, wearing, if it was possible, less clothing and more label than before. Rose would have sent them packing so fast, she'd have been in heaven... Jack quashed a shudder, setting the thought firmly aside - he'd see her soon enough, he'd see both of them, even if he couldn't talk to them yet. And he'd deal with that when he got there. Tonight was his night, time for some fun.  
Swallowing his impatience along with a good shot of vodka, he approached the nearest trio, putting the important questions first with a frank smile - best to make sure everyone knew what they were dealing with, after all: did any of them have her own place? What did they like - and, hey, were the three of them _together_?  
He grinned at their flushed discomfort and, as he turned back to his drink, a shimmer of movement caught Jack's eye, slow in the midst of frenetic energy. A solitary woman, dancing out of time to the prevailing rhythm, turning slowly with her arms raised as the band brought the rest of the crowd to a pitch of movement, creating her own space, lithe and pale skinned, long dark hair caressing her shoulders, the smooth perfection of black silk swirling around her calves and kissing her hips as she turned and turned -  
Now, _that_.... Jack watched appreciatively, amazed that no one had already approached her and looking for the protective glare - boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever - that was keeping the air around the slender figure empty of interested hands and bodies. She was turning enough heads, whoever she was, whoever she was _with_ , not that there was any way she was alone, surely...  
After another moment, his mind made up as much by the woman's eccentric grace as by the growing ache in his groin, he drained the last of his vodka and hitched himself off the barstool. It was a simple yes or no - and hell, the music was fairly decent; even if she just wanted to dance there was a pleasure there to be enjoyed for its own sake -

*

The lid of the trash can settled into a rolling ring on the concrete, its resonation startling the quiet night and almost drowning Jack's gasp of pleasure as the surprisingly strong grip settled around the base of his prick, as cold as the mouth swallowing him down whole - oh _fuck_ but that was good, even with the coarse breeze-block wall scraping his bare buttocks... However the hell she did that without a mouthful of ice, he wanted the trick - and didn't she need to breathe? Humid air bathing his balls, one cool finger rubbed a slow, perfect rhythm over his perineum, further back, further and... _yes_ \- the hard pull deepening, a faint sting and shudder lost in sensation as she pushed home, sucking him, stroking into him, deeper, deeper....  
Tracing her jaw with one trembling hand, he reached back to tug at his balls, trying to delay the rush of his climax - she was too good, sucking him so damn _deep_ \- but her lips were tight up to the base of his prick, a strong grip pulling his hand away from the coarse hair at his groin, skilled and enthusiastic, surrounding him, shaking him, breaking through every trick of control he could find until he was shuddering and groaning, tightening around the delicious pressure over his prostate as he thrust helplessly against the unbroken suction and coming and _coming_ -  
As the last waves of his orgasm retreated, Jack slumped back, steadying himself against the wall and stroking carefully over her pale cheek; so delicate - he'd never have imagined she could be so strong, but _damn_ that had been a ride. Life was too short to start comparing, but that had to be in the top - five? Faint waves of nauseous pleasure vibrated through his belly as she sucked greedily at his slackened length; she seemed pretty eager to help him get his fuck-muscles back into shape, but he was going to need a little time to recover from that - if she thought she was going to have him hard again straight away he'd have to disappoint her. But not for too long, not if the soft curves under that sin of a dress were as delicious as her talented mouth.  
"You'll get your dress all messed up down there." He was obviously more out of practice than he'd realised, grinning ruefully as the words emerged in a breathless rush.  
"That'd be a shame, wouldn't it, to make me all dirty." Wherever she'd stolen her accent from, she hadn't stayed there long enough for it to settle, Jack thought as Drusilla - gods, what a name - smiled up at him, licking her lips. The wicked sharp tongue that had tickled his ear as they danced flickered over a trail of semen and saliva that shone strangely, catching a trick of the shadows to seem darker, more fluid - either that or he'd hit his head harder than he thought when she first swallowed him; so cold, he'd nearly come there and then... Although, maybe it _was_ the wall; he was definitely feeling more light headed than was usual about now.  
"Maybe we should just find somewhere I can take it off for you." Jack blinked, shaking his head and immediately wishing he hadn't, a determined throb joining the party as he reached for her hand, still trying to clear the blurriness from his vision; his drink couldn't have been spiked, she hadn't been near it - no one had. And besides, he wasn't even susceptible to most of the usual hypnotics, a little something to thank his last paying employer for...  
"And are you going to be a gentleman an' all? Walk a lady home?"  
"Al... Always, Pride m'shelf on -" What the hell was _wrong_ with him? Staggering back into the wall again as he pulled the slight figure to her feet, he squinted and blinked through the blurring white lights flashing under his vision, focussing finally on the smiling woman's smooth, regular features, willing there just to be _one_ \- more was always good, but nice for the same number to stand up as knelt down - there was just her, he was light headed, but... what the hell? Now he _was_ seeing things - she'd been doing all the work there, there was no way he'd split her lip, was there?  
"Dru'shla?" Damn. Come _on_ \- "Dru - sil - la - You - you're bleeding?"  
"No, love..." Her smile widened, further, unnaturally far, her lips drawing back over sharp sprouting canines, a sharp squeeze at his softening length sending pain arching through his stomach and balls - and her face seemed to shimmer, wide pale forehead folding into irregular corrugations as her eyes bulged, and - oh _crap_... Jack staggered again, clutching at the sharp metal lip of the nearest trash can, fighting the wall of blank white nothing as she raised her hand to her lips, licking the broad bloody trail from her palm with relish. "…that's you."

*

"I thought you brought supper, and you want to keep him now? You know how you are with your pets, princess."  
As the dull blur of voices cut through the fog in his head, Jack groaned: he _hurt_. Everything hurt - his head and his neck, his back, chest; trying to roll out the stiffened ache in his shoulders and hips, the awkward position of his arms finally registered, deadened fingers prickling painfully. He raised his head, slowly and carefully, the memory of dizzied nausea enough to urge caution if not the fact that he appeared to be - oh, _great_ \- hanging by the arms and feeling as if every part of his body had been wrung out and then beaten for good measure -  
And did he - whoever the hell he was - just call him… _supper_?  
"He's pretty and he dances nice."  
"There's no need to bloody rub it in, Dru, love. You know it won't be too long and I'll dance you all over. We'll go back to Europe, find somewhere better than _this_ shit hole..."  
Jack could almost hear the frustrated gesture as a thin squeak sounded somewhere behind him, his attempt to concentrate enough to gather detail on his surroundings distracted by the heavy scent of his own cooling sweat and a singing bleariness somewhere behind his eyes; blood loss - _idiot_ \- how could he let his prick get in the way of...  
"I like him, he tastes nice - you should try 'im, Spike, he's all golden and shiny, like starlight and moonbeams."  
"I thought that was the point, princess. I just didn't realise you wanted to keep the leftovers."  
Jack shifted, twisting awkwardly; it was no good, he needed to know. There'd been blood, he must have lost plenty to pass out, but...  
Finally managing to separate out a throbbing ache that he wouldn't usually have been so pleased to discover from the general pain, Jack tried again to focus on the large room he appeared to be decorating. Not that he could see much; whoever decided they wanted him as décor - Dru - _Drusilla_ \- hadn't seen fit to light him - obviously not a connoisseur - and the pillar he was suspended from was blocking what little light flickered his way. A TV? And candles: what was this, film noir with real teeth? The thought triggered another, if anything less comforting - bulging eyes and her lips curling back from those teeth -  
\- _cold_ , nice cold lips and tongue and...  
 _Vampire?_  
Struggling against the restraints, Jack found a thin ledge behind his ankles, just wide enough to balance his weight on, the few inches of extra height easing the pull on his shoulders and providing a brief respite from the rough bite of the manacles. The heavy-looking chain was looped over a hook that protruded from the concrete pillar at least a foot out of reach, but if he could just twist the chain, stiffen it and lift -  
"Forget it, mate, we've had more blood bags hung on that hook than you've had -" Whatever the man said next, Jack never heard it. His feet were suddenly gone from under him, burning, overstretched muscles and tendons fighting to keep him balanced against his own weight as two almost simultaneous wet, popping crunches tore free a hoarse yell. A wave of red nausea washing over the warm, dull flicker, he slumped down, shoulders screaming their agony too loud for blanketing unconsciousness to cover and sending him scrabbling desperately at the concrete ledge again, trying to take some of the weight off his torn muscles.  
"Don't break my dolly, Spike. I like him." Her laughter rung across the wide room, bright and ingenuous, a delighted child with a new toy. "He's a _gentleman_ , all sweet rose petals and shiny black leather, he's shiny all through - golden and shiny. And anyway…" Her voice came close in his ear and Jack tried to turn his head, the simple movement wringing another involuntary grunt from his excruciated flesh. " _I_ want to break him. _I_ found him; he's _mine_."  
"You're fucking insane." Teeth gritted, Jack almost managed to keep his tone level, only losing the last syllable in a hiss as one overstretched calf muscle cramped. Sure, he'd heard of vampires, even read some of the literature about fifteen years - two lifetimes and several hundred species - ago, but he'd hardly expected to meet one - or two. And how the hell was he going to get out of this? All he'd got was a lot of pain and an unusable length of chain - he supposed it was too much to expect them to provide him with a handily sharpened length of wood or any holy water. Well he'd just have to use what he _had_ got…  
"That's not a nice way to speak to mummy, precious." Black silk swirled against the throbbing red foreground of pain, and Jack could have sworn for a moment that he was surrounded by a flock of acquisitive crows before his head was jerked back, the powerful grip on his hair sending yet more shards through the bright white shock in his muscles. "And you must be nice to mummy, because mummy can make you feel _so_ nice."  
Her face smooth and perversely child-like, Drusilla looked past him when the slow squeak sounded again and Jack tried to pull his pained thoughts back together; he had to do something - and soon. He'd already had a good look at her - if he could just turn in her grasp, or get down off this damn hook he'd be able to see what he'd got to get past to get out of here - assuming he could stay conscious long enough.  
"Just eat the sod, will you, Dru? I'll get you a present later. That china doll you wanted with the moving eyes and the dress just like your favourite?"  
"No, Spike, I want _this_ one. He makes such pretty noises when I play with him and he's all filled with stars and shiny bright lights." Drusilla's eyes glinted as she ran her nails over Jack's chest, shredding his T shirt and scoring into his flesh much, _much_ too easily, her enthusiastic lap at the slow trickle making his stomach clench tight. "Don't you want a taste, Spike? Come and taste him before I eat him all up?"  
Not stopping to process the implications of that, Jack pressed into her touch, encouraging her to suck harder at his chest before leaning away, drawing her under his point of balance and gritting his teeth as he pushed through the red mist saturating his vision, forcing his muscles to move, gripping the chain to pull higher against the restraints - higher - if he could just get his legs up...  
A delicate hand slammed into his stomach, the unexpected blow stealing the last of his breath and jerking his hips painfully, shocking already overstretched muscles. Supporting him easily, Drusilla wagged her finger as hurt innocence creased her pale features. "Now that's just _bad_. I'll have to punish you if you're going to be naughty." Her nails tightened into his flesh, and she held him still for a moment before stepping back, the sudden drop sending pain shrieking through his back, arms, shoulders, neck...  
Lost in a chorus of agony, Jack dangled helplessly, thick nausea swelling in his throat and restricting his breathing even more than the awkward angle. His pulse throbbed in his ears as the room blurred, doubling, tripling, and the lithe, dark figure moved closer - her smile widening, bright, vacant eyes blinking yellow.  
"Does it hurt, sweetheart?"  
Her grip tightened in his hair and Jack's head snapped suddenly back, shoulders wrenching, twisting his spine into a curve until the ceiling closed in with a wash of agonised muscles to drown him in static. The sharp whisper of pierced flesh flashed a blinding bright blue, stink of metal and soot _twenty seconds maximum_ and cold ashes, bloody stains on his heels and the rich stench of death weeping black _never doubted_ black silk and bright gold with the warm press of lips and brown eyes and blue eyes a brief touch flashing blue-golden-green and then gone and then _I kinda figured..._

*

"Come on, pretty, mummy's going to make you all big and strong."  
Jack blinked drowsily, wincing in the flickering light as he shifted, still trying to relieve the pull of chains. A dull clinking rattle sounded somewhere over his head and his torn shoulders shrieked, arms dropping to his sides to twitch briefly, painfully, exhausted muscles refusing more than another vague tremble against the heavy manacles.  
Warm, soft material pressed at his back and as the musty stench of old oil and dust assaulted his burning lungs he coughed, the sudden contraction setting fire to his muscles and rasping a throat he vaguely recalled yelling hoarse. Whatever she was planning to do now, he was here for the duration - he couldn't seem to draw breath properly, couldn't sit up, could barely move. Trying to persuade his hands to a position where he could at least stop her _biting_ , Jack flinched as fingers caressed his stomach, stroking up over his chest to run figures-of-eight on his throat, a dull ache pulsing there in time to the heartbeat that sounded too loud in his ears, throbbing like a loose tooth and somehow managing to compete with the pains that made up his whole body.  
"There you are. I thought I'd been greedy and used you all up, but you're strong, aren't you? All strong and filled with gold and roses. Here, baby, let mummy make you all better." Cool flesh pressed to Jack's lips, cool and wet, a bright red spark slicing through his dullness, _blood_ , the thought firing synapses, _the demon gains entry through the sharing of_...  
"Nm..." Clamping his lips together, Jack twisted his head away desperately, groaning as his body protested, but determined - the Dalek ray had killed him quickly last time, faster than blood loss, faster than whatever this insane bitch wanted to do to him. Following the dictates of his prick was no good reason to die, but -  
"No? You don't want to live, baby? Don't Jack want to go find his pretty flower? Find that shiny darkness, all the lovely places to go, all squished and squashed in a great big little blue box?"  
The mattress dipped as she moved closer still, pressing her softness and silk to Jack's bared chest and gripping his jaw, fingertips digging in as she turned him back to meet her wide stare. "If you don't drink now you'll be all dead and stinking, with the bugs and the worms, and you won't be pretty and shiny no more. No more playing, no more fun for Jack, only fun for the beetles and bugs and the worms. Do you think the worms will like you like I do? Do you think they'll play nice? Can you feel them, crawling, crawling all over your skin - they'll make friends if you play nice, let Dru make you all strong."  
Strength belying her soft insanities, Drusilla's grip tightened, easily overpowering Jack's increasingly feeble struggles as she straddled him, forcing his mouth open, her features blurring hazily. "Drink up now, there's mummy's good boy."  
Staring down into his eyes, she sliced through her lip with one glistening fang and Jack's gaze caught on the blood welling thickly on her pale skin; still trying to close his mouth, to turn his head away, he strained against her pincer grip and the drag of cold steel on dead limbs to draw breath... to just wet his tongue.  
The irony twisted dark and necessary, somewhere inside; what a choice for his life - spit or swallow... The thought seemed outrageously funny and an unfamiliar dry wheeze wracked his throat: screw the habit of a lifetime - he'd spit this one back, spit it right in her face - it was better to die, at least he'd be clean, be _himself_... and then time seemed to slow, vortex currents hurled grit in his face and the slipstream retreated as the chill spread. The slight woman's - the _vampire's_ \- weight straining his lungs to an asthmatic pant, Jack's quickening pulse thrummed in his ears and the room narrowed, hazing away to no more than the width of the fat, bloody droplet until that too was grown distant and dark, falling, falling...  
Silk whispered faintly on his chest and as the first bright splash hit Jack's tongue, his full mustered strength sent a thin bloody dribble trickling over his lip -  
\- numb; all numb lips and numb face and numb body fading, numb nothingness, deader and deadened and  
" _Bad_ dolly." The solid blow rattled Jack's teeth as it rang through his skull, pain and shock rousing deadened senses, heart racing faster than dulled, sluggish thought.  
\- not real - this wasn't real - he'd died - he was _dead_ , he'd just got to be dead...  
Tepid liquid flooded his tongue, its salty-iron pungency pooling so _wet_ at the back of his throat - he was _thirsty_ , just so fucking thirsty - and his body reacted, betraying him, swallowing even as nausea threatened to spew back the strong tasting liquor - the _blood_ \- "It's all right pet, it's all yours, all your blood, all your life." Twisting his mouth wider around her wrist, Drusilla hummed softly, the thin tune winding creeper-like, strangling the rapid bass thump of his heart. "You drink up now, be big and strong for mummy and we'll go find your pretty Rose and your shiny dark Doctor together. You don't want to be dead, not again, do you? That's no fun; all dead, all alone... You come with Dru now, come on, I've got what you need. _Dru_ won't leave you behind."  
A bright splash of laughter and dark eyes glowed gleefully, the taunting red gash at her wrist dripping _wet_ on his face as she pulled back - out of reach but so close... Cruel delight probing each jagged snarl of pain, Jack arched after her - nothing else left, nothing left but _release_ but he couldn't give in - with blank whiteness offering pain-free oblivion, his cramped muscles screamed as he clutched at pale skin, obstinately following the slender promise of life.  
"That's right, come on, sweetheart, you take what you want." A soft touch on his brow, cold fingers petting him, drawing him up to the wet gush at her throat and he swallowed convulsively, numb fingers knotting into slippery, shining dark hair, his skull's sickening throb at the rapid staccato growing weaker, even swallowing too much for shattered, torn muscles to bear...  
Thin strobing candle-flames dwindled to bright points of pain and the room darkened, long shadows retreating as Drusilla easily shrugged off Jack's grip to leave him sucking at air like he'd drunk at her vein, faint choked breaths lost under the quiet happy tune grating nerveless skin with silk and sensation. An open-mouthed kiss turning hungry, her tongue rasped his jaw, confusing his roaring ears, every cell pulsing with dilute awareness as the numb rhythm stuttered, too fast and too slow, a faulty double, triple beat, and then another - slower -

slower...

  
"I love watching things die."  
The bed dipped under Jack's shoulders as Drusilla pushed herself off his stomach, the cold hand on his chest faded to a distant numb touch; all surface, hard glitter and shine as the mattress settled and his head flopped sideways on the pillow, a thin warm trickle tickling his cheek. In the doorway the darkening candlelight burnished a figure: short, glowing golden and blonde -  
\- no. not again. not a dream. not another....  
No - not short - merely sitting, bleached white, never blonde, detail fading to simple colours and lines: white hair, black coat, blue eyes, and beautiful, quite beautiful, hostility glistening hard on translucent skin, the man's lip curled to sneer at a quiet, wet nearly-sound, noisome and vile, the monochrome tips of white hands idly tapping the rims of his wheelchair.  
"I know you do, love. And I love watching you watch them. Now, are you going to come watch some telly?"  
"Are there cartoons? I like the cartoons - not the nasty ones where the cat's chasing the poor little mouse, _nice_ cartoons, all flowers and fairies."  
As she passed the head of the bed, Drusilla bent slightly, one hand passing over Jack's face and sweeping his eyes closed, the slight movement shaking his hand off his stomach to fall at his side. "Sleep well, baby..." Footsteps, a slow squeak retreating, taking sound, taking sight, taking everything - paler and fading and distant and

"Don't you think he looks like a dead baby, Spikey?"  
"Yes, princess, just like one. Come sit down now. You've been so busy, you must be tired - and your Spike's lonely."  



	2. California Dreamin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was as good a time and place to wash up as any - maybe better than most, considering the current restrictions of his wardrobe. So long as it was brief, tight or garish, whatever he wore he'd fit right in._

So quiet, peaceful. Somewhere nearby a tinny speaker rattled over a reel of inane laughter, a quiet squeak - a wheel needing oil? - and further off, the rumble of traffic, land based, internal combustion engine, and the faint stink of pollution - nothing later than early twenty-second century. And over all that -  
A smell.  
No, _lots_ of smells, but one blanketing odour filling his nostrils, clouding his brain in colour - rich and warm with bright highlights. He could pick them out, _taste_ them, a silvery-blue, sharp and interesting, exciting, splashes of green, something organic, a fetid streak amongst fresh, clean hues, but mainly, overwhelmingly - enticingly - _red_ ; red-brown and crimson, scarlet, magenta and mauve - shades from orange to violet-black, tiny intoxicating tastes of rich pigment drawing him further and further…  
" _Hey_ -"  
The room snapped into focus, its high, cobweb-hung ceiling swathed in shadow, from the thick iron girders to the top of the shimmering satin hangings surrounding the - _bed?_  
Sitting suddenly upright, Jack's hands flew to his mouth, to his throat and found... nothing. No ringing wounds, no scratches, nothing on his upper body at all. Swallowing heavily and wincing in anticipation, he felt down over his stomach, vaguely noting the unlikely lack of pain in his shoulders and arms, the distinct lack of manacles as he gingerly tested his balls, feeling carefully along the flaccid length of his prick before flopping back down.  
And one other minor thing: how exactly - _when_ \- did he get naked?  
" _Hey_ ," the voice was louder this time, a little more desperate, trying to shout without making too much noise. "Hey... oh, thank god, you're awake."  
"Thanks for that. I was wondering." Jack shook his head, looking around for his clothes as he sat up again. Whoever the - young, male - owner of that voice was, he wasn't any kind of threat, and besides, there was enough to worry about already. Maybe if he ignored him he'd leave him alone. Although, if he knew where that delicious smell was coming from, Jack's stomach would thank him; he couldn't remember eating since....  
Scraping at the corners of his mouth, he tasted the brownish residue; yeah, definitely blood - old, dead, dried blood. Okay, so maybe that happened, but the rest of it must have been some kind of fucked-up hallucination - one big obvious giveaway, him not being _dead_ if nothing else. And at least that would explain where the hell the crazy bitch got all that shit about Rose and the Doctor from; some kind of sodium pentothal derivative maybe?  
Something else to add to the list. He'd obviously been dead long enough on the Game Station for the Agency implants to deactivate, all those useful little souped-up hormones passing out of his system - along with every damn thing else. He really needed to remember not to wear leather pants the next time he picked up a suicide mission... Not that the chances of having to peel off his own filth-streaked clothing post-mortem _twice_ were too high.  
So, what were they, cultists? _Vampire_ cultists? The literature had been pretty vague in places; although the real thing had definitely existed - until Thirty-eighth Century genetic advances made cellular regeneration a possibility, anyway - and there'd been just as many fakes, if not more. Idiots, running round in black cloaks - or black silk dresses? He had to give them credit for detail, though: stripping him was a nice move - suggestive. Although in their place he'd have smeared his clothes with shit and left them lying next to the bed - a little odour to add to the atmosphere...  
"Josh? No - _Jack_? Oh god, that is you, isn't it? Do you remember me? You were hitting on my - no, look, _helping_.... Oh, god. Look, can you - please? Y'know. Sort of just.... _Help_?"  
Peering across the broad, darkened expanse, Jack found the source of the voice: a blue flash, gorgeous colour, and young - not much more than a teenager - dark hair and a vaguely familiar face, where had he seen him before? It wasn't as if he knew a lot of people in - what was it, 1997? - and whoever this guy was he was damned persistent. Hell, maybe he'd got some idea where his clothes had gone. And then there was his tech... Waving one hand absently at the distant figure, Jack resumed his search; clothes he'd manage for somehow, but the controller, his wristcom, the TARDIS key…  
Where to start, though? The bedroom - more like half a room, two and a half walls, the rest of it no more than floaty, soft material - looked like a weird cross between a Victorian brothel and a nursery for a child with some serious problems. A family of china dolls congregated at the foot of the bed around a congealed mass of wax, the remnants of burned out candles on every flat surface, but mainly - overwhelmingly - there was _colour_. Bright and true - a glint of silver flashed through a scintilla of greens and blues, a familiar shade of bronze following, proceeding across his vision like nothing Jack had ever seen before.  
He blinked again: okay, so they'd emptied his pockets onto the dressing table. At least that meant he didn't have to hunt for his keys. Now, maybe if he could shut it all out for a minute he'd clear his head... Only there was an unnatural sense of rightness about the depth of his vision. Every tiny detail - not closer but clearer; it had to be an after-effect of whatever he'd been spiked with, and...  
 _"Spike?"_  
Spike and Drusilla. It was a step up from Herman and Lily, maybe, but... where the hell were they? If this was the end of their stupid damn game, it made no more sense than the rest of it. Why would they clear out, leaving him naked, on a bed, with his belongings - if not his clothes? Maybe in a few years he'd come across a stack of skin flicks he didn't remember starring in, but -  
"Sssssh. _Don't_. Look, they've gone. I don't know - somewhere, can you please, _please_ \- just get me down off here, before they come back - oh, god, Buffy, where the hell are you…" The voice was familiar too: he'd been anxious when they met earlier, protective and trying to look bigger than he was - well, he looked pretty tall, his feet were touching the floor, so unless they'd shortened the chains...  
" _Okay_ , will you quit shouting at me? Can't you see I'm having a problem here?" Blinking against the sharply-tuned images, Jack scooped up the controller and the TARDIS key on its chain, hanging them both around his neck as he ducked to look under the bed. Okay, now - that was just plain weird. His pupils had to be dilated to _fuck_ to be able to see so clearly in the gloom under there. But no sign of his wristcom, no clothes... Hell - maybe if he did what the kid wanted he'd shut up and help him find them. "Fine. You want to get down? Don't fancy playing their stupid game?"  
" _Game?_ Are you blind? No - look - sorry, I didn't mean... Please, just can you - really -"  
Jack stopped in the draped satin 'doorway', the jumbled mass of cringe and apology battering like a trapped fly at his awareness; small, subtle and meaningless against the sudden waft - or maybe a shade - a tone of flavour? Creamy fabric stroked his spine through his fingertips, textured, tangible patterns of light swallowing his senses, upside-down, inside-out, his nerve endings vellum for needle-like nibs, incandescent splashes of bright and dark pigment - primary, tertiary - blending unmixed over every cell, every follicle, and the _taste..._  
What the fuck had they given him? Acid? But it was all so clear - every image overwriting the next in perfect clarity, frame to frame to frame to... A flat, dark gleam broke the bland grey monotony of the concrete floor and he stooped, his grin of relief at the familiar scent of leather and sweat turning into a wince as his stomach contracted at the movement. Right, that was all his tech, now what about clothes? Those boots had been comfortable...  
Another step toward the dark haired boy - _man_ ; testosterone painted in dark green and purple, electric blue, pink - and an empty heave clenched across Jack's gut, saliva pooling under his tongue. "What did they give me? You've been here, you saw them - saw me - what did they do? What was it? Oh - _fuck..._ " Damn but he was so hungry - starving but _craving_. If he could just name the flavour; like chocolate, the Doctor's Kreelanien brandy; rich and thick... the thought cloyed on his tongue and he swallowed hard, trying to suck down saliva as he retched again. He'd just got to eat something, then he'd be fine.  
"You got any food? I don't know what the hell they've done to me, but if I don't eat soon I'm gonna start hurling bile."  
"I - I don't really..." Twisting frantically in the manacles, the redheaded girl's so-not-my-boyfriend stretched up on his toes, trying to unhook the chain. "I could - probably find something, but you need to get me _down_ , first."  
Did the guy not think of anyone but himself? Fine, fucking asshole, selfish fucker - he'd see if he'd got any money, and if he couldn't find anything else he'd have his clothes too - anything to get out of here and find some _food_.  
Bare soles finding concrete, the rough surface dusted with papery ash and grit, another sharp spiral twisted Jack's gut into synaesthetic knots. Every flavour and none vied to sicken him as the deepening crimson aroma poured over his senses, dancing bright facets catching the scent and the shape of each droplet of sweat on the long, angular face.  
The kid didn't seem to know where to look; wouldn't catch his eye, sure as hell wasn't looking down - and there was nothing wrong with that view, Jack had had plenty prettier guys than this one pleading for a taste... but even through the clouding hunger, the thought wouldn't be denied: the kid was gorgeous. Beautiful brown eyes, puppy-dog soft, reflecting pinpoints of candlelight in warmly hued, malleable flesh, dark hair and a mouth shaped like a kiss, his jaw just seeding with stubble and the long, pale sweep of his throat...  
A subtle movement drew Jack's gaze: a rapid tick, disturbing the bruise-coloured shadows under the liquid-blue collar. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but the shallow movement resounded, a metronome beating to counterpoint whispers of breath as the scent wafted again, deeper and brighter at once, stinging his eyes and clouding his thoughts.  
"It's _you. You're_ what I can smell. What are you wearing? What _is_ that?"  
Blue shivered under Jack's palms, the flat flap of leather hitting concrete as the wristcom fell from nerveless fingers and he grasped the kid's shoulders to shake him, the beat hitting him bodily, writhing under his skin. Jack flinched back, rubbing the numb tingle quivering in his jaw. What the hell had he got on him - what _was_ that?  
" _Stupid bastard_."  
"What the fuck did you call me?" Jack looked up in disbelief; if he thought he was in any position to start pissing around...  
"I didn't say anything." Umber-grained fear sent another raw rumble through Jack's guts as he leaned closer, craning almost involuntarily until his nose brushed fine, warm, velvety flesh. It was too much - whatever they'd drugged him with had screwed up his senses; sight and sound and scent combining until his nerve endings sparked, confused sensation rippling through his flesh, prickling his gums, his mouth watering over the acid sting, another harsh tremor folding him inwards to hug at the pain.  
A laugh this time, and he could hear the sneer running through it.  
 _"Fuck's sake, Princess, next time you want a new pet I'll get you a rat - it'd be more intelligent than this pillock."_  
 _"Hush, Spike. He's learning. Don't you remember your first?"_  
The voices were quiet, by no means inaudible, but from the look on the kid's face Jack was the only one hearing them. Maybe he was hallucinating them too - but... The scent dimmed as he turned away, the sound of breathing too bright in his ears, and he swung back, the pounding roar quickening, a single deep bass-line of flickering crimson and white light shuddering under such a fine, delicate sheath of skin...  
A single beat; he was sweating, shivering and his face hurt – but he just couldn't hear…  
 _"Shut up."_  
"I didn't…"  
"No - you - all the noise you're making - you're all I can hear, just -" Clamping his fists over his ears Jack curled into another spasm, a writhing, gurgling snake of sound and sensation filling the sharp grey silence in his head. Nothing, _nothing_ else; streaks of bright hunger smeared scarlet over his vision and the kid flinched, trying to scrabble back through the pillar as his eyes and mouth opened together, looking at Jack then focussing over his shoulder and back again -  
"Oh god no - I - No - shit - don't - don't kill me, I didn't, oh shit - _Buffy!_ "  
"You should eat, love. You'll feel so much better when you get something nice in your belly." A touch on his shoulder and Jack twisted, his lip curling into a hiss, somehow keeping his feet as the slight figure pushed him firmly back against quivering, shivering heat, the chains above his head rattling in time to the rough silken pant raising hairs on the back of his neck.  
" _You_ \- what the fuck have you done to me?" No one treated him like that; _no one_ fucked with Jack Harkness and came out of it smiling - even if they were as obviously insane as the bitch tipping her head with a giggle to afford him a better hold on her throat. He was going to kill her - once his whole body stopped vibrating with the pulse at his back and the hot crimson wash stopped tormenting his grinding guts, shallow breaths heating his skin like the promise of sex...  
"I told you - you've got to drink up if you want to be all big and strong. Now, be a good boy and stop playing with your dinner." The smile gleamed brightly in Drusilla's eyes as she reached over his shoulder and a gasp-flavoured sob razed Jack's back, intoxicating prismatic smoke staining his senses, heavy, delicious and living and - wet...  
"Here now, I'll be mummy, shall I?"  
Crimson painting her fingertips, the slow trickle shaded the crease of one knuckle, deliciously filling each wry, asymmetrical curve of Jack's fracturing thoughts and his gut twisted again. Biting his lip to keep back the groan, his throat contracted as the delicious scent caught on a sharp slice of pain, washing dark-edged over his tongue.  
The hand pressed to his lip found wetness, and something more - something _sharp..._  
"No."  
That wasn't - not impossible, but... It was an hallucination. A stupid sex game, this wasn't - it couldn't be -  
 _"No."_  
"Oh yes, baby. See?" Dripping fingertips parted his lips, cooling now, but so _alive_ \- like nothing Jack had ever tasted before; all the shades of sensation resolving to red and he followed thoughtlessly, letting her lead him, unable to resist the pull of his stomach growling for more - that glorious scent and the _flavour..._  
"That's better; you show your pretty face to the nice little boy, now. There. _That's_ right..." It was intoxicating - pale, sweating fear tingling salty ammonia over his tongue, the boy's lean body shook as he struggled with the chains holding him, huge brown eyes widening as Jack leaned to the dark trickle welling at his throat -  
Hot, vital, delicious - everything the first taste had promised and more; hot skin and salt and the body pressed hard under his - a full-frontal assault on every nerve ending - it was _better_ than sex...  
Another long lap and a whimper - a sob - blue rain tickled Jack's taste buds and as Drusilla's grip on his shoulder loosened, he reached round to drag her hand over his hip, blood calling blood, the ripple writhing through his belly, tightening his balls as it shivered his skin, raising hairs and a twitch in his prick.  
But there were too many senses to please here at once - there had to be a less awkward angle.  
One determined tug and the chains pulled free with a rattle of dust and grey fragments. The struggling body thrown easily over his shoulder, Jack cocked an eyebrow at the approaching squeak, dismissing the blonde's bark of annoyance with a shrug as he smiled an invitation at the shining dark woman. It seemed a shame to waste such a nice convenient bed, after all.

*

Curled like a cat, Drusilla rolled her neck as she stroked the soft chemise over her shoulders, the movement drawing Jack's attention away from the dark expanse of glass momentarily.  
"What's the matter, love? You don't need that to know you're beautiful. Beautiful forever, now."  
"But I can't _see_ it..." Looking away from the shimmer of reflected wood and the dented, tasteless bed-linen, Jack resumed his frustrated scowl at the azure shirt, the oily glisten of raw silk that had vanished, as invisible to the broad, cracked glass as his own flesh as soon as he had reached for it. It might be petulant to complain after the beautiful darkness she'd given him, but he didn't care - he felt cheated. What fun was there in stealing all these lovely clothes, in the effortless play of his new strength and energy, if he couldn't appreciate the sight of himself?  
"You can _feel_ , though. Sweet poppet, don't be upset, now - mummy likes what she got you. Here, let me see it for you." Jack's frown disappeared at the light touch, and he tipped his head to roll one cheek into the cup of her hand, the glittering light in his smirk catching the dark of her eyes and spreading to shine through her translucent skin like moonrise.  
"Can't you feel it? How sky-blue-deadly and delicious it is? I thought of your eyes when I brought him back for you to have your fun." Swaying back into Jack's arms, Drusilla pulled his hands in slow rhythmic sweeps across her belly as she surveyed the shirt's previous owner. Bare limbs sprawled motionless on the rug where their efforts had deposited him, broad chest and softly muscled thighs mottled with bruises and faded red-brown stains, his dulled brown eyes considering the bland reflection of exsanguination as art form. "And you had such fun, didn't you, sweet? My Spike was all shocked at you, he thought you were full of daisies and daydreams, such a nice playmate for his Dru. Only we know, don't we lovely, my sweet baby Jack. There's still stars in you, stars and gold lights, all shiny and hot with nasty sharp thorns - made me bleed - I could taste them, taste the gold stars in your blood, in your belly - can we play with your stars? Are they going to burn me all up?"  
"Every time. Isn't that why you wanted me? Or was the ass enough?"  
"Don't be bad now, all them rude words in you. Be nice, poppet, or mummy will have to punish you again."  
"Oh, fuck, _no..._ " Leaning to bite softly at her ear, Jack growled at the shifting pull of flesh, the bright sting of _sharp_ and Drusilla's purr grew louder as his fangs pierced her skin. "D'you promise?"

*

The shirt's silken blue whisper caressed Jack's scored flesh deliciously and he turned to grin at the woman stretched naked on the bed before wriggling into the snug-fitting jeans as well. The kid's hips were narrower than his, not that it was a problem - he'd just leave a few buttons undone, and the shirt too, why not? Let blondie see what he'd got. He might not be particularly agile, but hell - legs, wings, wheels; he'd never been prejudiced. Besides, it _was_ a damn good sight, and if he wasn't going to get to appreciate how good he looked, he should let as many people as possible do it for him.  
As he slipped the silvery chink of chain and its invaluable cargo into his pocket, the thought made him smile again - _Rose_ had appreciated the way he looked well enough. Whatever misplaced notion of friendship - of her naivety - had kept him away from her wasn't going to stop him getting what he wanted now; he'd rectify that little oversight just as soon as he got back. The Doctor too; although... He shrugged - whatever the consequences, he'd deal with them when he got there; just like he usually did.  
"You know - _last_ time I died..." Jack stopped and then laughed, shaking his head as the grinding roar sounded again. "What did you say it was? A Model T?"  
"Now, love, there's no need to be nasty. My Spike loves his car."  
" _Right_."  
"You be nice, now. Go on, go and make friends." Rolling off the bed, Drusilla ran a slow hand over Jack's chest and then shooed him towards the choked sound of the stuttering carburettor as he reached for her. "Go on, go and help. And no arguing. If my beautiful boys can be nice together, then we can all share."  
Smirking, Jack settled for another quick grope before he let himself be shoved away, then followed the sound of squeaking and swearing from the enclosed yard, rolling his shoulders until they cracked. Where the hell she thought they were going in _that_ , when along with everything else he hadn't needed to tell her she must surely _know..._  
He rubbed his chest, smooth articulations of muscle shifting under the skin where the thin ache of the Dalek ray had finally ceased in its faint ringing surge - after three years it was about time - and stood back to watch as Spike heaved himself over into the driver's seat, leaning precariously to add another long strip of tape to the top of the windscreen. "Nice heap of crap you've got there. Just because you can't see out, doesn't mean no one else can see it. You ever consider a trade in? Something to match your eyes, maybe?"  
"That's my car you're talking about, our transport. You want to fry? Be my guest. I'd pin you out myself, only Dru'd be upset. Make yourself useful - sit under a hole or fix one."  
Catching the duct tape squarely, Jack hissed, enjoying the flexible twist of speed as he telegraphed the roll back at Spike's head - only for the other man to pluck it out of the air impossibly quickly, every tiny movement slowing to the pace of his own perceptions and choreographed in beautiful simplicity. Pale and graceful, the blonde leant back to his task, drawing a breath merely so he could mutter under it as Jack peered into the cold mirror of the cracked windscreen. The smooth surface glittered with miniscule fault lines and broader cracks, faint traces of mica, a coruscation of energy tracing fireworks over his retinas and firing synapses over senses still wakening to new potential. And nothing else reflected there but the ceiling and walls... Well, he'd have to get used to that, wouldn't he.  
"I'm going to stake you myself, you know." Spike's sneer belied his conversational tone as Jack slid across the broad, charred seat, the smoking butt narrowly missing the smooth fall of blue silk to land in his lap and Spike's lip curled again as the scent of singed hair wafted over tarry brown carcinogens.  
Jack shook his head, flicking the dead end out onto the hard packed earth and then turned to return the bland stare with a pointed smirk. " _Really_. What did I do to deserve that honour?"  
"Two things. That nice present Dru brought you? The one whose pretty blue shirt matches _your_ be-yew-tiful eyes?" He snorted, lighting another cigarette from the open packet in his shirt pocket and blowing a long bloom of smoke in Jack's face. "He was one of the Slayer's bosom buddies. Name of Xander; stupid bastard, but she liked him. Hence our little road trip. You get the idea of the Slayer, right? Slay-er. Kills vampires. And number two?"  
The blond man's eyes narrowed as he pulled on his cigarette, slowly sucking it down to a hot orange core and then rolled the short stub between his fingertips before flicking it neatly off the centre of Jack's chest. "Just because my back's fucked doesn't mean there's anything wrong with my hearing - or my sense of smell. That's my princess you're _entertaining_ there. Don't get any funny ideas about her. She's fickle, I know, but you're no more than a whelp, however nicely you dance her around."  
Biting back a laugh, Jack caught the other man's eye as a high pitched whine tickled the base of his spine. A blast of energy, something - _different_ , the frequency hit hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a rush of borrowed life to the base of his prick, tingling through his balls, the feeling so strange and familiar - and that noise, that thin, regular cyclical...  
 _...signal._  
The soft scritch almost distracted Jack from the reason he'd reached into his pocket, each hair brushed by stitching and weft and then his fingertips closed over the tiny metallic cylinder and the answering reverberation passed though his system like the shock of life, a wave of energy completing its circuit with his flesh as conductor. It was beautiful, purely beautiful - the thought made him laugh out loud, throwing his unfettered hilarity to the dusty ceiling as his face shifted, scoring a slice from his tongue to taste - breakfast, lunch - dinner - the most delicious meal he'd ever tasted, and the most addictive -  
Oh, but _this_ was going to be fun. So many interesting places to go, so many species to eat, and in the meantime... Flapping open the strap at his wrist, Jack smiled at the readings. What did the man say? Life - nature's way of keeping the _blood_ fresh?  
"What makes you think I'd be interested in that? I've got places to go, people... You know the spiel, besides..." He pulled the controller from his pocket, the key dangling on its familiar length of chain from the smooth whisper of chrome - how long had he kept this thing safe? Such a precious reminder - a promise - of safety and home, abandonment, pain, disillusionment... No more illusions now, no more disappointments; and having a place to start was always such a good thing. "You were saying you wanted to take her back to Europe? You know - _before_."  
Spike raised a sardonic eyebrow at the dangling preposition, ignoring Jack's slow slide across the seat with a nicely-turned insolence as he reached up to pat a strip of silver tape back into place. " _Before?_ What - before you got your hands on her?"  
"I'll drop you off if you want, the pair of you. Unless... You could come with me. Cardiff in the fall do anything for you?"  
" _Wales?_ " The smoking butt followed the snort of laughter across the seat, sparking as it hit the doorframe. "I had you down as a lot of things after that little performance in there, but a _sheep-shagger?_ Oh, Dru'll be so impressed."  
"I thought you said there was nothing wrong with your ears? I wasn't trying to _impress_ her, I was _fucking_ her. You remember, the bit where she was screaming my name? Or had you forgotten how that sounds." Jack leaned closer, ash and whisky tickling his tongue as blue eyes met his; patient hostility in the confident stare; assured and alluring, the blonde vampire stank of hatred, and something else, a hard twist of gold amongst the writhing green tendrils clawing at his calm exterior.  
Oh yeah, _fun_.  
Spike held the stare for a moment longer and then snorted, turning back to the windscreen. "What do you want? You think you're something special, you go piss off outside, go sit in the sun. See how fucking special you are when you're crispy. You're nothing - she'll get bored of you just like she does everyone else."  
" _Everyone?_ " Jack smiled, pinching the unlit cigarette from Spike's fingers and watching his eyes narrow. "I don't want to push you out, I've got plans of my own. Can't see why a little unexpected present ought to stop me. I'm just saying, there's nothing to stop us all having a good time, that's what time's for, right?"  
"Not going to be a lot of fun if we don't get out of here soon. Little Miss Summers is already after my dust, this is hardly going to make her all peachy and nice."  
Spike reached for another cigarette and then stopped as the harsh scratch of his lighter sounded. Jack inhaled slowly, listening to his lungs filling, the low gurgle and squelch of fluids pressed by the useless rise of his diaphragm, the quiet hum of Drusilla's song in the bedroom raising hairs on his neck as sharp acid and tar rose in the rich choking - no, no breathing: no choking - the delicate lacework of trails slowly smearing across the stench of cooled death and he leaned to place the cigarette between Spike's lips.  
He'd wanted bacon; it was all just _breakfast_ \- he might even pass on the coffee.  
"Leave the heap of crap _automobile_. I've got something parked out at the beach that you're just gonna _love_. There's a little trip we need to take, and your precious transport's just not gonna cut it."


End file.
